


Incremental

by brutumfulmen



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Biting, Breathplay, Fantasy Fulfillment, Marathon Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Previously-Negotiated Kink, Rimming, Serpentine Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutumfulmen/pseuds/brutumfulmen
Summary: Some snakes constrict their prey, others go right for the throat.Crowley prefers both.





	Incremental

Crowley is spending the day at the bookshop, apparently.

Which was more than alright with Aziraphale should anyone ask him. An unexpected break from their routine nonetheless, and one he could not help being curious about.

Aziraphale had come to work in a good mood after the steady leisure of their morning commute from their flat into Soho with Crowley deciding for once that the light traffic was not worth his usual breakneck pace. This time however, instead of departing - always with a quick kiss and a wave - for his own work of the day Crowley decided to remain here with Aziraphale. He had indeed given him the obligatory quick kiss before slipping out of sight into the back room, away from the sparse customers trickling in throughout the day in their attempts to escape London’s muggy summer heat.

There was no need to look in on him, Aziraphale knew exactly what Crowley would be up to, especially with the heat. Crowley, as he was wont to do during summertime, was currently lounging across the settee in the backroom, head fallen over the backrest, feet propped up on the low coffee table which he only got away with whenever Aziraphale was not looking. If he listened closely, now that the bookshop was closing up, he could pick out the faintest sound of Crowley’s snoring. A soft whistling noise he made when his tongue was not _quite _human.

Aziraphale spends more time than he should wrapping up the day’s paperwork, already visualising a display he wants to make on the shop’s round table. It will be an easy, comfortable task for him to while the hours away with in the quiet of his bookshop. Or would have been.

“Another successful day of not selling one single book, I see,” he hears the drawl of his favourite voice, and looks up in surprise.

Crowley stood in the doorway of the backroom, sunglasses set atop mussed auburn hair, stretching his long limbs past what human joints are capable of. With a loud smack of his lips that pursed Aziraphale’s own, he slouched further into the shop, hands shoved into the pockets of his ridiculous trousers.

“Afternoon Crowley, did you have a nice rest?”

He does not answer immediately, rolling an arm around its socket before popping his neck so loud Aziraphale winces. “Sure. Tons of fun sleeping on a couch with cushions harder than marble.”

Aziraphale scowled on behalf of his beloved settee before turning back to his books, setting his glasses down on the desk to rub at his eyes. “You know those chairs are not made for your… resting habits, as it were, and you could have gone back to the flat. I appreciate it, your company, but you really did not need to stay if you did not want to.” Crowley clicked his tongue in reply, the noise lifting Aziraphale’s gaze back over to him, now leaning against one of the bookshelves.

“Yes I did. So, mood for anything in particular tonight?”

Ah, right. They have not eaten yet today. Aziraphale thrums his fingers over the pocket-watch tucked in his waistcoat. His eyes shift along the large windows surrounding them, daylight gradually fading as the sun slides down the afternoon sky.

Time certainly passes faster nowadays, so it would seem.

Crowley is asking about dinner, and he is truly looking forward to it as he does when it comes to dining and Crowley and those two things combined. However, when he glances over at each book stacks on his desk that needs cataloguing, displaying, and most of all reading, the workload ahead of him dampens his excitement.

“Dining in tonight would be preferable, if I may say so,” he begins, reluctance tinging his voice, glancing over to see Crowley fold his arms, an eyebrow quirked as though to say _go on_. “You make such wonderful meals, but I have so much to do here.”

The words trail off, unsure of how to convey his wishes right now, instead he busies himself with the display he wanted to set up.

Crowley hums in thought, golden eyes tracking Aziraphale’s puttering through the shop with an intense focus. After a beat of silence between them he pushes off the bookshelf, tipping his sunglasses back over his eyes.

“I’ll make something at the flat then, swing back around. Should give you some time to finish your _work_, yeah? Course I’m right. See you in a bit.” With that Crowley heads for the door only to be stopped by a soft dissenting noise from Aziraphale, who pulls a short stack off the desk and walks past Crowley, unaware of those eyes landing on him.

“Oh no, there is no need for that. Perhaps we can go and pick something up, bring it here. Always a lovely walk during this time of evening, anyways.” Aziraphale sets the stack of books onto the table, nudging each one with a careful touch to get them in a spiralling pillar. He leans back to admire his handiwork with a smile. That should do for now.

Crowley’s voice drops through his ears carrying a not unkind firmness. “Out of the question. Stay here. Let me worry about it, angel.” His words are beginning to elongate implying Crowley is about to dig his heels in.

Aziraphale sighed, flushing against all reason and unable to quell the warmth that occurs when Crowley insists on doing something for him. He can be - _assertive _when it comes to taking care of them both. They have not been in a relationship, as it were, for too long in comparison to the rest of their time together, and this notion does not seem to deter Crowley in the slightest. Crowley responds to every possible need Aziraphale has with the same patient yet unrelenting attitude he’s handled the past six thousand years with. It means to Aziraphale, that despite his heavy-handed manners, Crowley cares for him in ways no one else has, or ever will.

It _also _means - Aziraphale flips the coin - more often than not when Crowley insists on doing something no matter how small, it is going to happen.

Aziraphale makes his way back to his desk not wanting to turn around. The distinct impression of this coin landing on the side where Crowley cannot be swayed is barrelling towards the forefront of his mind.

“You already do so much for me, Crowley. Surely, my dear, there is _something _I can do for you,” Aziraphale sighs, only to be cut short when Crowley sidles up right behind him, quiet breaths hitting the back of his neck in shiver-inducing puffs. Swallowing thickly, he turned, faced with Crowley looking down his long nose at him, a thin hand lifting dark sunglasses off his face to tuck them into his shirt pocket.

Crowley, smiles with his long fangs on display, leans close, crowding into Aziraphale’s space.

“_Do _for me?” he asks, voice low, dangerous.

Long arms come up to cage him in away from the desk towards a bookshelf, and Aziraphale’s belly flares hot. Crowley might be leaner than Aziraphale, but he stood far taller and enjoyed the advantage of a much stronger physique in general compared to the rather sedate lifestyle Aziraphale chose for himself. In addition, Crowley being a demon meant numerous differences between them - outside of the obvious - he has come to understand. One of them included a coil of strength he was not reluctant to unleash should they need. Aziraphale sees it brimming under every fibre of Crowley’s human form, setting his traitorous heart aflutter.

So much for dinner, Aziraphale flushes at the thought.

But then Crowley continues, tone light despite his words. “When have you done anything for me, hm? And what exactly are you going to do, angel?”

He was looming, face shadowed in the darkening room save for his golden eyes shining down at Aziraphale, waiting for something. The smile on his face morphed into a smirk, lips pressing shut over his fangs as Aziraphale stood there wide eyed.

“I -” Aziraphale is not quite sure where this is going, anymore.

Yes, he tends to be _passive_, as it were. Having experienced one lover his entire existence makes it - at least to him - better to have Crowley take the lead. He prefers Crowley manoeuvring them around their bed exactly how he pleases, never came across as a bad thing, really. Crowley seemed to enjoy himself anyways, which to Aziraphale was the most important part. Despite these thoughts, doubt seeped into his mind.

Perhaps he has misread this entire time. Was… has Crowley been expecting more from him? Oh _dear_.

“If there is something,” Aziraphale’s throat tightened, looking down at the floor, Crowley’s shiny shoes reflecting back up at him. “Something you would like me to do - well, that is to say. If you could guide me, then.” He glances off to the side out into the bookshop, then up to Crowley with great reluctance at what he will find there.

Crowley’s thin mouth is ticking down, amusement fading. Aziraphale swallows, hands coming up between them to fidget, a nervous habit he knows Crowley does not like him doing. Not his fault situations such as this call for it.

Golden eyes flicked down at the wringing hands, as he expected they would, but come back up without comment.

“You’re getting it all wrong here, angel. Stop thinking so much. Relax.” He replied in a tone that on anyone else would be called assuring, hands falling from beside Aziraphale’s head to rest on tense shoulders, rubbing small circles as the tension dissipates.

Crowley comes closer, lips just before Aziraphale’s own. “Now, let us try this again. What are you going to _do _for me, when you’ve never so much as lifted a finger?” Aziraphale blinks, a bit thrown at the rewording of the question, feeling Crowley’s hands smoothing down his chest, resting on his curved waist.

“I - well I -” Crowley is waiting, ever so patient with him but Aziraphale is beyond frustrated with himself. Why can’t Crowley simply do whatever he—

Wait. Oh, _now _he remembers, feeling foolish all of a sudden. Heat flushed across his face up to redden his ears.

Crowley snorted but it was not mocking, his forehead tipping down against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale risks a glance up to Crowley’s golden eyes blown bright with unbridled desire. Underneath the lustful varnish he finds a limitless affection pooled there, unchanging, and his heart rate quickens.

This was just a… he is not certain what this is part is called actually, but he trusts Crowley will take care of those details.

“Have - I mean.” He wets his lips, unintentionally skimming Crowley’s mouth they are so close, watching his pupils dilate then contract into razor thin slivers of black. “I will _let _you do whatever you want - to me. That is what I will, ah, _do _for you.” The words might be little more than a stumbling mess, but they get through and Crowley is already on him, mouth sliding across his in a blaze of heat that sparks up his spine.

“Good, good. I knew you would understand.” Crowley praises when he pulls away, hands grabbing at the padding along his hips, and drags himself flush to Aziraphale, cock rubbing hard against the pudgy flesh of his belly.

His clothes feel a tad tight now, skin hot underneath where Crowley’s hands roam, coaxing him to turn around so that his back meets a firm chest. Crowley is bending them both forward until his shaky hands must come down to brace against the desk. Aziraphale shifts, trying to press himself against Crowley, gasping when a hand moves to pinch the back of his thigh.

“Steady now. Have you _already_ forgotten your promise?” Crowley moves to rest his hands atop Aziraphale’s, entwining their fingers and he rocks against Aziraphale.

Aziraphale muffles a whine behind sealed lips, but when Crowley slows down it is all he can do not to arch back in the hopes of more. A chuckle puffs along the shell of his ear, and Crowley presses soft kisses down the side of his neck.

“My way, angel.”

Crowley, he had been surprised to first find out, possessed the sexual pace of a glacier. Everything cautious and unsure in Aziraphale appreciated this aspect of the fast-living demon, but more often than not it led to a desperation beyond belief. Whether with his tongue, fingers, or, _well_, Crowley would work him through what felt like - and sometimes was - hours of slow burning pleasure before he let either of them even think about next steps. Bliss the entire way, yes, but Heavens could he wring the self-control out of him.

It was what made Crowley a - er - good demon, he supposed, shivering as Crowley nipped an earlobe.

One other curious thing Aziraphale began to notice, when he felt the slow wind of Crowley’s arms around him, his lean body crowding onto Aziraphale so he could no longer squirm in his grasp, was that he liked to _bind_. Limit Aziraphale’s movement as much as possible with his own body, anything to keep him in place while Crowley had his way. Oh, he hoped that is where this was going.

Long fingers pull his shirt away, revealing the pale column of his neck. Raking his gaze down to the curve of a flushed shoulder already shining with perspiration. His angel is always so sensitive.

The flick of Crowley’s forked tongue winding up to his jawline sent shivers down Aziraphale’s back, hands clenching tight from their place on the desk amidst his papers and books he no longer cares to sort through. In the quiet between their laboured breaths, is a beat where he hears the soft pop of Crowley’s jaw, unhinging beyond the human limit above his exposed shoulder, dampening the skin with his breath. Warm saliva drips out from Crowley’s mouth, soaking him and the pushed aside fabric of his shirt, but he does not even spare a thought, all of his focus on Crowley and whatever he is about to do.

Aziraphale, during what seems the very suspension of time itself, is about to beg for something to happen when Crowley _snaps_ down.

Sharp fangs sink into Aziraphale’s skin sending his heart pounding and mind blank. He gasps aloud in shock but Crowley holds fast, unwilling to let him squirm away or unhook Crowley from his body and he whines low at the jabbing pain radiating out. Crowley’s tongue is pressing to the tender flesh, lapping wet around the wounds, hands rubbing his hips in slow circles, urging him to remain still. After a minute of forcible steady breathes, Crowley working him over in gentle movements, the pain drops to a subtle ache no doubt aided by the demonic influence he must be seeping in through his fangs.

Aziraphale almost bites straight through his lip, trying to relax into the decidedly uncomfortable puncturing of his shoulder. It is not as bad as he originally worried, now that the majority of the ordeal is passed, but it is. Different. Quite so. Behind him Crowley shifts and Aziraphale twitches from the jostle, turning his head to see what is happening.

“Don’t move, angel,” Crowley commands, words muffled as his fangs stay hooked into Aziraphale’s skin, but he shivers in Crowley’s grip at the warning nonetheless and obeys. Hot breath pants against him while Crowley’s arms creep back around to his front, yanking the hem of his shirt out from his trousers, a hand slipping underneath to grab at the curve of his stomach. Crowley widens his stance, anchoring himself to Aziraphale as he grinds him down into the desk. He can feel Crowley’s painfully hard cock rutting against his arse, sliding perfectly where he would press in if clothing did not so cruelly separate them.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasps, unable to move as the fangs in his neck prevent him from budging lest he suffers their sting. This is exactly what Crowley wanted to happen all along, and he went willingly into this situation, didn’t he. Now he was here until Crowley was finished with him, in every way he had planned.

The thought sends him trembling, and not with fear if his cock’s throbbing is anything to go by.

Crowley’s hands move from his waist down to his hips, nails digging into the fabric of his trousers, threatening without movement to tear them to shreds. One hand wraps tight around his soft waist, while the other begins to unbutton his trousers, slipping in to where Aziraphale is _aching _and he wants this, whatever Crowley takes of him but—

“Wait, wait Crowley.” Aziraphale struggles to say, whining as Crowley’s hands on him go still, not pulling away, not yet. He rests his own hand atop the one over his waist, swallowing the tension in his throat to gather himself. Crowley has stopped breathing, stopped moving. Everything, Aziraphale realises, was focused on him, waiting for him to decide on letting this continue.

He shakes, but Crowley’s hand leaves his trousers to come up to stroke his cheek, fingers moving upwards to sink into his hair. Aziraphale feels his breathing slow, grounded by the touch.

“Yes, my dear. Just not here, if you please.”

Immediately the hand leaves his hair and with a snap they are in their Mayfair flat, although at one point it had only been known as Crowley’s. Now there is as much of Aziraphale here as there is Crowley, the smell of home comforting to them both even as they are grinding against each other, stumbling through the hallway. Aziraphale squirms at the drastic change in air temperature compared to the warmer bookshop but Crowley is completely wrapped around him again, fangs an ever-present ache sending a different type of heat blooming throughout his body. It takes Crowley half carrying him to finally stumble their way to the bedroom, and with a push from Crowley they both fall atop their bed, still connected by his vice grip and embedded fangs. Crowley unlocks his arms long enough to rummage blindly around the nearby nightstand for a bottle of lubricant and then dark sheets are all Aziraphale sees as Crowley lays him down into them, that lean body careful in its power.

Aziraphale tries to reach back only for his hand to be snatched and pressed into the bed with an iron grip. He glances down to see Crowley’s fingers darkening, pale being leached from him as his skin goes charred black, nails lengthening into sharp points. That rules out Crowley opening him up with those deft fingers, he shakily assumes. Crowley’s other hand leaves his waist for the first time since they arrived at the flat, fumbling up Aziraphale’s chest to unbutton his shirt.

As the buttons slip from his sharp fingertips Aziraphale senses Crowley about to tear the finely tailored waistcoat and dress shirt right open and that will _not _do.

“Let me, let me,” Aziraphale breathes, unpinned hand coming up to hasten his undressing. He hears a grunt, and Crowley’s hand slips down Aziraphale to reward him by palming at his hardening cock through his trousers. Aziraphale bucks into the grip, moaning low, fingers trembling as they undo the last buttons. With a snarl Crowley releases him long enough to roughly pull both items off and tosses them aside. Another impatient snap of his fingers - his desire to take this part slow non-existent - and the rest of their clothes are vanished somewhere in the flat. Hopefully the closet, but Aziraphale knows better than to ask.

He shivers at the cool air against his naked body, whining as Crowley withdraws his fangs from Aziraphale’s shoulder, following it with his tongue lapping at the wound, before he sets a kiss atop each little hole.

“I will be back for the main event, angel.”

Before he can respond Crowley flips him without effort and Aziraphale’s back hits soft dark sheets, a gasp torn from his mouth. Crowley’s right hand darts up, long fingers corralling Aziraphale’s wrists in a strong grip and pulling them down towards where Crowley was moving between his legs. His left hand hoisted one thick leg over a sharp shoulder, hooking the knee there with a light pat. Aziraphale squirms, unable to shift or move back as Crowley keeps him locked in place, unsure of what he is supposed to do here. He is about to ask but Crowley is nestling between his thighs, openly staring at his dripping, flushed cock. He slackens his jaw, and Aziraphale muffles a moan at the sight of Crowley’s tongue.

Aziraphale _adores _the spectacle whenever Crowley unfurls his tongue, dark red and exquisitely inhuman, the way it slides so far past his lips. In the serpentine form Crowley inhabits while basking in the bookshop on sunny afternoons, his tongue is slender, agile. Purely reptilian in utility, that tongue transfers to Crowley’s human form in an… unusual way. He retains the _dexterity _of his snake form’s tongue with all the thickness of a human’s, truly a blessing if there ever was one. Tapered for Aziraphale’s pleasure - Crowley described his tongue as - with a delicate forking at the very end and his own mouth goes dry at the sight. Crowley’s tongue was at its best when working over every hard to reach spot inside Aziraphale. Heavens, he hoped that was what Crowley planned for this. Flicking up into the air and tasting the heavy scent of arousal wafting between them both, Crowley hisses.

“You’re going to let me do _whatever _I want,” Crowley lets his tongue hang, glistening with saliva. “Aren’t you, Aziraphale?” The syllables are drawn out, muddled and Aziraphale is about to come simply by seeing Crowley threaten him with a dangerous twist of his tongue.

“Yes, Crowley, but my dear - if you - your tongue,” Aziraphale whines, feeling foolish in begging for what he wants while spread open. Crowley never gives him anything unless he asks though, not unless he begs for it. Time and again he has lain in this bed while Crowley worked them both to orgasm _Crowley’s _way. If Aziraphale on the rare occasion wants something different, a change in pace, a tighter grip, Crowley expects him to use his voice or he gets none of it.

“Please, please I need your mouth on me,” he sobs at the light touch of Crowley’s tongue running up the underside of his cock, trying to buck into it but hopelessly pinned. It works like Crowley promised him it would when asking for what he wants.

“I suppose I can oblige my angel this once,” Crowley crowed before dipping his head down, tongue licking a long wet stripe up the length of his cock, this time not teasing in the slightest. Aziraphale’s head falls back in satisfaction, heat flickering to life in his abdomen.

He never lasts long the first time, or any of their times together, really. Crowley, for all his endurance, is unable to get Aziraphale to tap into his own alleged stamina. Something tells Aziraphale, however—

At that moment Crowley relentlessly works his long tongue around Aziraphale, letting the mess of saliva drip down his modest length before he _swallows _him down.

Aziraphale howls, thrashing in Crowley’s unyielding hold on his wrists, heel digging into the slippery bed sheets for traction as the other pulls Crowley further against him. Heat is pooling at the base of his spine, burning hotter with each swirl of Crowley’s tongue around him, taking care to lap at the flushed, leaking cockhead. Every part of him is aching with building pressure as Crowley’s wet mouth works down his cock.

Right, what was he saying. Crowley clearly does not make any attempts to help Aziraphale last, and something tells him Crowley prefers it that way. The ability to make sure Aziraphale comes without him getting stuck over-thinking the matter, and to Crowley this must happen as soon as possible so he can get to work on the _real _round he plans for them.

Which is good for Aziraphale’s sake, as his first climax of the evening is already bearing down on him, legs twitching with each languid stroke of Crowley’s tongue. Fire blazing inside his belly.

“Crowley, Crowley it’s, I’m about to - _ah _-” he tries to say but Crowley only hums around his mouthful of Aziraphale, tongue working harder in that impossibly slow winding pattern. There is a brief moment Crowley leaves him suspended at the edge teetering before oblivion, until his tongue _squeezes _roughly and with a broken cry Aziraphale comes down Crowley’s throat, hips held fast despite his writhing. Crowley’s throat tightens on his cockhead as he sucks his spend down, wracking Aziraphale into oversensitivity.

If he was not already looking he would have missed it. Before Crowley pulls his mouth from Aziraphale he catches how golden eyes dart to his shoulder, the flesh already darkening from the earlier bite and shiny with saliva. Aziraphale can see tension radiating from Crowley, his instinct to mount undoubtedly overwhelming the demon by now, but there is a thoughtfulness dusting that fiery gaze. Shifting for a moment as his leg falls from Crowley’s shoulder, relief blooms through his chest at how Crowley’s focus immediately hones back in on him.

“Crowley, we can keep going.” Aziraphale lets out a shaky breath, hoping his voice sounded confident. Either he comes across as convincing or Crowley doesn’t notice, as Crowley releases his hands to crawl up his body, dragging his tongue along the way, leaving a wet trail of spit from cock to collarbone. Soon he is nose to nose with him, lean body arcing over Aziraphale's own curved one, narrow hips wedged between his thighs.

“I don’t mind just the one time, the biting. Was perfect. You too,” he rasps, thick tongue preventing him from speaking in his low timbre but Aziraphale shivers all the same, blinking rapidly at the tenderness behind Crowley's words. There is a dazed look in Crowley’s eyes when he spoke, spurring Aziraphale’s courage to keep going, to see where Crowley with his unrefined, undercurrent affection takes them.

Aziraphale reaches up, hands settling on his shoulders and Crowley leans in close, hair plastered with sweat as he pressed their damp foreheads together. He holds the other’s gaze. “I know, my dear. And yes, please, whatever—” he blushes, breaking eye contact to look down between them, almost losing courage at seeing Crowley’s dripping cock leave a small puddle below Aziraphale’s navel.

“Whatever you want to do you can, I meant it.” And he still does.

The air around them seems charged, Crowley’s bled gold eyes glowing down at him, his laboured breaths halting. Then his lips move across Aziraphale’s in a languid, gentle glide and Aziraphale finds the strength to bring his hands up through short auburn hair. A groan from Crowley, his tongue licks against the seam of Aziraphale’s lips, nudging them open for him to push in, and then further.

Aziraphale takes a sharp breath through his nose, hands tightening in Crowley’s hair as he forces his throat to relax. Legs squirm against Crowley’s hips and lean arms wrap around him in response. Trying to fight his gag reflex and about to fail is met with Crowley pulling his tongue back a bit. The forked tip lingers, teasing along the roof of his mouth when Aziraphale is overcome with an urge, and bites down.

The reaction is immediate, Crowley tenses up over Aziraphale, arms tightening hard around him to hold him in place as he grinds his cock roughly against Aziraphale’s. Thrusting his tongue all the way down Aziraphale’s throat quick enough to make him stiffen but not recoil and then he is yanking himself away. Aziraphale is about to apologise but Crowley’s eyes are blazing gold, face consumed by rippling scales, entire torso blackened in demonic fervour. Aziraphale is awestruck.

“Turn over, angel,” Crowley growls, hard tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Nodding quickly he pulls away to wiggle out from under Crowley. When he goes too slow Crowley is there with powerful hands flipping him onto his soft stomach, nudging his thighs apart with a knee. He manoeuvres Aziraphale as he wants, until his head is resting against a pillow, hips slightly raised so that the tip of his cock brushes against smooth sheets. Every time Crowley touches him, moulding his body as though he were clay, pre-cum dribbles from his once again eager cock. Crowley only acknowledges it once, reaching between his legs to slide a dark claw along the tip sending a shudder through Aziraphale. He lets the slightly calloused digit collect a bead of fluid, spreading it down the underside of Aziraphale’s cock to his tightly drawn up sac, watching in amusement as Aziraphale twitches, moaning. Aziraphale is truly in his element here, a complete mess under Crowley’s hands and he intends to make an even bigger one of him.

He hums idly, pulling Aziraphale’s buttocks apart and dipping two fingers in between, spreading them apart to view Aziraphale entirely.

Aziraphale shifts in response, feeling completely exposed. His cock has a long strand of clear fluid falling onto the bed and he _knows_ Crowley can see it, but he does not move to do anything about the matter. For a long enough time that he grows restless. Aziraphale struggles to rise up onto his elbows, risking a glance over his shoulder to where Crowley is holding him wide open and -_ goodness_. Just staring.

He almost groans with embarrassment, still unused to being so openly gaped at let alone in such an _intimate _area. That really is not necessary, is it?

“Crowley? Is - is everything alright?”

Crowley says nothing, tongue hanging past his lips over his soaked chin, long fangs flash dangerously in the fading light. Together it all looks too much for a human but on Crowley, who is by default too much, it is perfect. A burning gaze darts up to look at him, sending a dark shiver through his body at the glint in Crowley’s eyes. 

“Can’t a snake admire their meal?”

Aziraphale goes bright red, whipping his face back down into the pillows as Crowley growls, but his embarrassment fades when Crowley continues.

“Going to open you up, get you wet and loose for me, angel,” Crowley promises, voice like gravel. “Would you like that? My tongue deep in your arse?”

Aziraphale shivers, but he does not wait for a response, dipping in and Aziraphale nearly jumps off the bed at Crowley’s tongue licking wetly over him. He laps at Aziraphale as though he can do this all day - and maybe he will, another time - letting his spit coat him until he can dip the tip of his tongue past that tight ring of muscle. Aziraphale, predictable as ever, is becoming increasingly vocal as Crowley takes his time, pleasuring himself just on the taste of Aziraphale’s body, his intoxicating scent about to drive him mad.

He has been good, gasping out those delightful sounds, laying there spread open and trembling as Crowley works. With that thought he gradually pushes his tongue in and is rewarded with a moan so loud Crowley almost comes right there. Slicking his way deeper inside, Crowley winds along where he knows Aziraphale’s prostate shared a supple wall and he pressed down, listening to Aziraphale choked pleas for more. If Crowley could hiss with his tongue buried inside Aziraphale, he would. This is pure bliss, licking his way into his angel’s body with his tongue fully serpentine. He grinds into the bed, not for anything other than the pressure against his now controlled cock. Aziraphale’s rising noises are all he needs to stay hard and aching.

A long finger, claw temporarily retracted with great effort on his part, is added alongside his tongue, gently working the gushing saliva around the rim, stretching as he curls. Aziraphale sucks in a loud gasp as both finger and tongue press in, rubbing every spot Crowley knows drives him wild. Crowley proceeds after a carefully timed while, adding a second blunted finger to Aziraphale and he halts when everything tightens unexpectedly. His unoccupied hand pets down Aziraphale’s sweat-slicked back in careful strokes, saying without words for him to breathe through it.

Aziraphale’s whole body shudders for a long moment, but he obeys, and after several deep breaths Crowley can feel him relaxing. Both fingers sink to the knuckle, curling over Aziraphale’s prostate as a reward and _that _gets him back into focus, moaning quietly, hands clenching the sheets in an attempt to keep under control.

On it goes, the careful stretching and relaxing of Aziraphale’s body, being rewarded each time he is patient with a crook of Crowley’s fingers and tongue against his prostate. At the third finger Aziraphale is trembling so hard Crowley knows he is barely able to withstand it anymore. Slowly he pulls slick fingers from Aziraphale, then his tongue and he croons low in sympathy at Aziraphale’s sob, stretching to climb back over him.

“You’ve done so well,” Crowley slurs, tongue a bit numb as he lays a trail of kisses up Aziraphale’s damp spine, gentle touches following the curvature of his soft sides.

“Please,” he wails, Crowley's hands on him hotter than fire. “Please I’ve been patient.”

Crowley nuzzles against Aziraphale’s cheek, a hand slipping off Aziraphale. “You certainly have.”

Retrieving the long-neglected bottle of lubricant, he poured some into his palm, slicking it along his aching cock. He shifted himself a bit further up, covering Aziraphale once more and he lets himself soak in this moment, breathing in the heady scent of their combined arousal and what he knows to be uniquely Aziraphale.

Perfection incarnate underneath him. How lucky he is.

“Breathe,” Crowley says, and then he is moving. Aziraphale relaxes as much as he can, moaning low as Crowley’s cock slips into his well-prepared body. The pressure is incredible, the blunt tip of Crowley’s cock sliding into him at a glacial pace and Aziraphale fought every part of him screaming to rock back. He was strung out and Crowley was not even fully inside yet, taking Aziraphale in exacting measures so he could feel every inch of Crowley stretching him.

After what felt to be hours Crowley finally bottomed out, staying there as Aziraphale adjusted to his presence inside him. There was no movement behind him, his trembling, shuddering form as it tried to adjust. Crowley was not even breathing.

He feels the press of Crowley’s lips against the back of his head, before moving to his shoulder where he set another kiss. Oh, Crowley.

“Yes,” he breathes out in a steady rush of air as the last of his tension faded, ready.

Crowley dropped his weight onto Aziraphale, who could barely hold himself up let alone the both of them and immediately collapsed as Crowley sank further inside him. A hand crept up Aziraphale’s chest, rolling a nipple between two dangerously clawed fingers. Aziraphale panted in response, a breathy little thing, trying to wriggle back but Crowley kept his pace languid, unwilling to do more than push in and out of Aziraphale’s shaking body.

“Crowley,” is all he can say, repeating the word like a mantra at the rhythm of Crowley’s cock inside of him, rubbing perfectly where Aziraphale likes best. It is torture, waiting for each slow thrust and powerless to do anything except anticipate. During all of this Crowley’s free hand was roaming, pinching his peaked nipples, skimming the soft weight of his belly, occasionally gripping his hip to shove a particularly hard thrust in whenever Aziraphale was not expecting leaving him pleading for another only to deny him.

To think lovemaking could be like this. All his fantasies of it, of Crowley over the years, none of them ever matched what it truly was, and he is endlessly grateful for that.

Crowley’s hips were rolling in slow, mouth anchoring on tight to settle into the bite marks he made earlier, no urgency to him at all despite Aziraphale’s own rising desperation. But before he could react a sharp hand was idly brushing back up his flushed body, fingertips catching around the low line of his neck. He did nothing with it, lingering as he moved atop Aziraphale. Just waiting. Asking a question only Aziraphale could answer, he dimly realised, even when Crowley had him completely at his mercy.

This is what Crowley had wanted permission to do, when he first brought all this up days ago. Crowley had been careful in his words, whispering after they made love the way he longed to take Aziraphale, show him how much he desired him, all his instincts laid bared. Pinning him down was one thing, Crowley gave into that impulse almost every chance presented, but _possessing _Aziraphale fully, as only his serpentine mind knew how—

“You can, please just - please,” Aziraphale panted, trying to push his hips back to meet Crowley in encouragement, chest flared red at the pinprick of Crowley’s thumb-claw resting against the hollow of his throat, fingers encircling like a necklace or a noose. Crowley’s fangs have sunken deeper into Aziraphale’s shoulder but he is mumbling against his skin, tongue wet and slipping over the complex syllables of his name.

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale,” the only thought in Crowley’s head now as his entire being narrows down to the impossibly loud pulse thundering under his blackened grip.

Crowley’s hand settled at last around Aziraphale’s neck, and he shouts before his breath is cut short, all too functional lungs railing against the interruption. The slightest pressure, the _threat _of danger hurtles Aziraphale right to an edge fuelled by desperation and mind-bending arousal. Tension is coiling tight in his body, his cock throbbing, dripping obscenely between his stomach and the bed he rubbed across. Crowley jams himself fully inside, rutting little motions that make the puddle of pre-cum underneath Aziraphale spread with each short thrust over his prostate. He does not have to breathe, not really, but for this it is worth it. The pressure of Crowley holding him there, pinning him down in every way has him gasping as he struggled under Crowley’s relentless hold. Even trying to suck in breath only leads to him moaning at the resistance against his throat, heat flooding right to his core.

He feels completely drenched by it all. Sweat coats his entire body and most of it not even his, saliva is pouring down his back from Crowley’s drooling tongue, the excessive amount of lubricant Crowley slicked him up with to ease his thrusts. Terribly messy, unlike anything they’ve done before and he is insatiable for more. More of Crowley. More of everything.

Crowley thickens inside him in a familiar warning, his thrusts staying deep as they shorten. Aziraphale can feel him about to come and is all the closer for it. Knowing Crowley wants to finish like this, entirely controlling Aziraphale, his fangs in his shoulder, a hand holding his wrists down, the other around his neck, overwhelming and _constricting_—

Vainly he tries yanking himself from Crowley’s grip, head swimming from the urgent lack of air, his cock impossibly hard and _aching_. The fingers around his throat tighten their grip and he cannot help but clench down on Crowley’s cock.

"Aziraphale-"

Crowley tenses on top of him thrusting hard before sharp hips stutter against Aziraphale’s arse, and he moans, wrecked, as warmth spills into him with each heavy pulse of Crowley’s cock. A low groan vibrates out from Crowley, fangs a tuning fork sending vibrations down Aziraphale’s body straight between his shaking thighs. Crowley's cock, as only a demon’s effort could make it, remained in him pumping for what seemed like ages, until Aziraphale could feel it spilling past where Crowley stretched him wide.

“Yes,” he wheezes, trembling underneath Crowley, who drives back in with a faster pace solely to get Aziraphale to the edge. He is almost there, managing to take a breath when Crowley’s hand slackens for a second, enough to let him beg.

“Harder oh Crowley whatever you want yes, _please-_”

Crowley hisses something black into his skin, hand tightening on Aziraphale’s throat _fully _cutting off his air and he keens just to hear himself unable to let it out. Tears spill down his face, vision blurring from the pain pleasure of it all but Crowley is merciless. Nails claw into the delicate skin along his pulse points, the flutter of blood pumping through him drives Crowley wild, thrusting erratically now. Crowley pulls his mouth away enough to then sink his fangs harder into the meat of his soft shoulder and Aziraphale shudders up when the pain reignites.

Sharp hips push against Aziraphale a few more times, grinding him down hard into the bed, rubbing his cock between his stomach and the bed and _oh _Aziraphale is coming, trembling with a drawn out orgasm that steals what little breath Crowley let him have, spending himself across the dark sheets with each drag over his prostate. Eventually the thrusting slows, both their bodies twitching as each jostle sends his senses haywire. Crowley’s grip on his neck eased, thumb gently stroking a line down his throat, then falling away as they stop. With a gasp, fresh air floods into his lungs, the burn in his chest immediately subsiding despite the pounding in his head.

Aziraphale breathes deeply, body thrumming from orgasm, every muscle lethargic. Crowley’s weight remains heavy atop him, keeping him in place. Which is nice, but rather too warm for him to withstand for very long. As he tries to move Crowley resisted with a growl, pressing back _hard_ with his hand tightening its grip around his wrists. His cock remained stiff, achingly deep despite just coming.

“Crowley?”

Crowley hisses again in that language Aziraphale cannot place as his tongue laved at the bite area, an order for Aziraphale to _stay still_. There is a shift behind him, a resetting of positions, then he is rolling his hips, the loud slap against Aziraphale’s round arse punctuating his sharp breaths and Aziraphale’s quiet moans. Crowley’s unspoken command was clear, there is nothing for Aziraphale to do but lay here and be taken.

Aziraphale knows Crowley wants to come inside him again. He will finish this way whenever he can during their lovemaking, going out of his way to make sure he ends things with his cock driving into Aziraphale until he spends, bucking and groaning out his satisfaction at Aziraphale being so good, laying there for his pleasure. He loves it, knowing Crowley only wants to come when it is because of him spreading his legs, taking him inside of his body.

At the thought he moaned, angling his hips up to let Crowley thrust deeper and he shivers feeling Crowley’s cock stretch him even further.

He thrusts harder now, slicked up by excess lubricant and his earlier spend, and as he moved the room filled with a horrible squelching noise that had Aziraphale blushing hot and ducking his chin only for the movement to pull at Crowley’s mouth on his shoulder. Before he remembers himself Crowley is already chiding him with a precise pinch on his flank, not painful but enough to make him yelp.

“None of that,” Crowley snaps, garbled and wet. That hand comes up, sharp and dark, tapping at his chin to keep Aziraphale in place. From his limited view face down in the bed he sees Crowley’s arm, stretched to pin his wrists overhead into the pillows, has bled into the darkness that covered his torso, but Aziraphale had not been able to look back for some time now.

Oh, he can see it in his mind’s eye, however. All of Crowley’s skin now the colour of his scales, shimmering atop the sinew Crowley’s human form wore so well. There was something horrific and undeniably erotic whenever he had the privilege of seeing Crowley’s demonic aspect on display over the body he pleasured Aziraphale with.

“Crowley—” he whimpers, feeling Crowley thrust a few times, and then the steady pulse of his cock once more in Aziraphale’s body. Aziraphale shudders at the short, hard movements of Crowley working through his climax until he collapses, slick chest heaving against Aziraphale’s back. For a moment they lay there, Crowley’s cock twitching inside of him, his tongue slowly winding, flicking at the skin where his fangs bite in while Aziraphale fights his own renewed arousal.

The hand pinning his wrists loosens but Aziraphale does not dare move or reach for himself, even as Crowley slowly pried his fangs from the now deep purple flesh of his shoulder. Before he can whimper that tongue is pressing against both puncture wounds, a careful ebb of Crowley’s energy flowing into him, dulling the pain further. He listens to the laboured breaths Aziraphale heaves out, eyes on the marked up pale expanse of his back, the enormous bruise forming on his right shoulder.

Slowly he begins to slide his cock from Aziraphale only for him to cry out, arching up and Crowley pauses, still partially inside.

“Don’t want to hurt you more than I have,” he says gruffly and Aziraphale grins into the sheets, oddly touched. Crowley shifts behind him and Aziraphale cannot hold back a moan, his cock dripping profusely as if he has not come at all this evening.

“You have not dear, you,” Aziraphale gasps, gaining back more of Crowley’s cock, the bite of those long fingers sinking into the plushness of his skin. “Crowley, I-”

He feels Crowley leaning over him, tone just shy of teasing. “Sorry didn’t hear you, there. You want my cock _again_? It hasn’t left you.” A hand leaves Aziraphale’s skin and moves to where they are joined, rubbing at the loosened slippery ring of muscle stretched around Crowley’s cock. The other hand at his hip keeps him locked in place.

Aziraphale whines, gripping the sheets, trying to work his hips back only for Crowley to move away. “Please, please - _ah _\- my dear it is so much.” He is close, desperate to come again and yet he is not sure he can handle it. Crowley huffs a laugh, hot and damp into Aziraphale’s hair.

“Don’t be modest, angel.” Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s hand wrap around the part of his cock not buried in him. “You can resist all you want, but you promised, remember?”

The slap of Crowley’s fist against his arse echoed in the room as he began to stroke himself with rough jerks of his arm, chasing his pleasure. Aziraphale’s body ached with exertion, he has already come more times than he can handle but the breathy sounds Crowley made into his ear are everything. The feeling of half that cock, impossibly hard inside him while he works towards another orgasm in Aziraphale’s body sends lust flooding his veins.

“I won’t be patient forever, angel,” Crowley manages to warn, struggling to not grab Aziraphale’s hips and drive once more into his tender body. Using him, Aziraphale thinks with a shiver, as little more than a place to deposit more of himself. It is a potently arousing thought indeed, but Crowley is not going as fast as he could. The tight grip stroking his cock is slow, controlled even as he works his way towards the edge.

Aziraphale moans, reaching back to grasp Crowley, those lean hips twitching under his fingertips with barely restrained desire. He is waiting for Aziraphale to catch up and the notion that even now Crowley puts his pleasure first is what Aziraphale needs to crawl once more towards his climax, cock sliding in the soaked sheets, friction bordering on painful. Crowley’s cock throbs over a sensitive part inside him and Aziraphale moans, going tense at the force of his orgasm rising up once more. His climax rolls over him in slow waves and he writhes, hands biting in their grip on the form behind him, gasping Crowley’s name. Not long after, Crowley is shuddering atop Aziraphale, unable to stop himself from pushing forward insistently to sink another inch. Aziraphale, still riding out his orgasm clenches at the intrusion and with that it is over. Letting out a moan loud enough to make Aziraphale blush Crowley comes, adding to the excessive mix he’s already left behind.

Panting, Crowley pulls his hand from his spent cock and plants it onto Aziraphale’s other arse cheek, squeezing both soft mounds while Aziraphale sinks further into the bed, lax with pleasure. With a grunt he presses his still twitching cock all the way back inside Aziraphale’s sensitive body to leave the last few drops even deeper, hips weakly working through the aftershocks.

Then Crowley is digging his thumbs between Aziraphale’s arse cheeks, prying them apart to ease his withdrawal. Slowly, in incremental measures, Crowley slides his cock free with a relieved sigh from them both. Aziraphale flushes at the hot wetness of Crowley’s multiple releases gushing down his thighs to pool with the mess he made of himself. Behind him Crowley whistles low at the sight. Aziraphale breathes a huff out at the noise, but it soothes a self-conscious part of him, and he remains pliant waiting for whatever Crowley is about to do next.

Hopefully clean them both up.

Instead a thumb, now with a blunted nail, slid against his loose wet hole and he jolts from the contact. Too much. Far too much after _so _much. A moan is pulled from his throat, trembling while Crowley massages the tender skin, watching intently how Aziraphale contracts around nothing. It is just an idle movement, as though Aziraphale is not already strung out with pleasure, unable to do more than shiver.

“You took all of me so well,” Crowley praises, and Aziraphale groans into the pillow at the compliment, relieved to know Crowley is pleased with him but it’s _not _appropriate to say such things. Despite all of, well, this.

Crowley laughs, ragged and dark, then presses a kiss to the small of his back.

“In need of some cleaning though, aren’t you? Dripping all over the sheets like this, that won’t do.” He is so wet back there that if he did not feel Crowley’s nose against his tail bone, hot breath puffing along his skin, he would not have known it was Crowley’s tongue lapping long stripes over him. Aching at the contact, his exhausted legs spasm to move away from the near painful attentions of Crowley.

“Crowley, ah easy please.”

Crowley growls low into Aziraphale, cutting him off, and so he lays there trying to catch his breath while Crowley does as he pleases. Precise flicks of that serpentine tongue work over his loose hole, lapping up droplets of come leaking from Aziraphale’s relaxed body. Like this was something Crowley did every day. Or would if he so chose. Crowley cannot catch it all though, does not try, having come so many times inside him that Aziraphale feels _heavy _with it.

He is about to push off the bed from over-sensitivity when Crowley strikes fast, hands coming up to pin both his wrists down at his sides, pulling Aziraphale towards him, leaving him writhing against Crowley's talented mouth. He might as well be climbing a mountain on foot for how long this goes on, each touch delivered with the practiced patience of a demon. Crowley is slowly swirling along the rim, dipping his forked tongue teasingly, only to never penetrate Aziraphale. Not that it would take much, fucked and stretched out as he is. The slightest push and Crowley would be inside once more, but is denied it each time.

Then Crowley’s tongue slithers fully inside him, winding deep until it is stroking against the wall shared with his prostate in hard repetitive motions. Aziraphale’s back arches, hips stuttering into the bed and Crowley withdraws as the pleasure hits, leaving him empty and desperate. He repeats the action, gliding his tongue back in, letting it rest there, tip of his tongue flicking little jolts of bliss into Aziraphale. Something edging on painful is building, thighs shaking from the effort to resist rocking back onto Crowley’s face.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasps, every nerve ending thrumming wild. There is no way he can come again, completely spent dry by Crowley but it’s burning up through his body all the same. Crowley withdraws his tongue impossibly slow, licking and twisting as it leaves his body and Aziraphale sobs at the precipice he has been left on. A long moment passes them by, the room filled only with the sound of Aziraphale's harsh breathing.

Crowley dipped just the tip of his tongue back in and Aziraphale is so close, body drawn up tight like a bowstring at the ever so slight pleasure Crowley drip feeds him. Tears build in his eyes, Crowley’s tongue winding through him in the slowest burn just this side of agonising—

“Please please I can’t.” Crowley only hums low in his throat, questioning, a vibration rippling through his tongue into Aziraphale and he bites off a moan. “Crowley please, take me again if you must, but your tongue _please _oh I beg you.”

At once Crowley slithers his tongue back inside Aziraphale and drags against his prostate, pumping once, twice until Aziraphale silently screams, coming harder than he ever has. His eyes roll back at the waves rushing over him, feeling like he could come forever and for a long drawn out moment he is certain Crowley has suspended him in release, his cock pulsing in time with his pounding heartbeat.

Aziraphale sags into the bed, twitching at the aftershocks wracking his body as Crowley’s tongue slowly winds him through it all. Distantly, he hears Crowley behind him crooning, hot breath coming in harsh pants against his arse before a broken moan and then there is silence. Crowley’s hands, slick and sticky, are on his thighs massaging while he slowly pulls his tongue from Aziraphale and the overwhelming drag of it after climaxing so many times sends him reeling, consumed by pure sensation.

Crowley is saying something, but Aziraphale can only blissfully moan out his name, lost in the stars bursting across his eyes.

He wakes up in darkness, the sun long since set and only moonlight remains to illuminate their bedroom. Rubbing his eyes blearily, the first thought as he comes to is Crowley will never let him live this down. Passing out right after they made love, smug creature is going to have a field day.

However rightfully so is beside the point.

His second thought is he feels far drier and cleaner than he really should after the amount of er, bodily fluids that were spilled into him. He flushed hotly, squirming against the warmth in his stomach and he tamps the mental image down using several millennia’s worth of willpower. 

There is to be _none _of that happening for the rest of the evening, he chides, letting out a slow breath through his nose. He’ll discorporate if Crowley sees him like this and starts things up again.

With a long sigh he rolls onto his back, taking a moment to gather his facilities. Aziraphale spares a careful glance down at himself, now dressed in a soft unbuttoned nightshirt and laying under clean sheets that are more of a silver than the usual black Crowley prefers. Every inch of him aches, dulled from what he can sense to be Crowley’s will seeping through his skin. As he lays there even now, it is a lingering trickle, alleviating every bruise and uncomfortable muscle twinge. 

A hand comes to where the bite in his shoulder should be, fingertips tracing the puncture marks, finding no pain or raised skin. He looks around, blinking to adjust. Their day clothes are put away, not a single item out of place in the pristine bedroom. His favourite blanket, clashing horribly with Crowley’s aesthetic meaning it is confined to the living room most of the time, lays warm over him.

Crowley must have done all this while he was resting, having had to forgo their usual afterglow-infused conversation and cuddling. The thought of him diligently tending to Aziraphale as he slept on chokes him up. He sniffs, a wet sound catching in his throat, and he dabs at his eyes with the edge of his nightshirt’s sleeve.

“Come on now, no need for theatrics.”

In walks Crowley, still very naked to Aziraphale’s rather shy appreciation. No matter how many times they are together, seeing Crowley in such a way makes him feel like it's the first time. He hopes the feeling never fades.

Crowley cuts through the shadows, avoiding the moonlight pooling in through their bedroom’s large windows. He keeps back from Aziraphale, instead circling wide towards his side of the luxurious bed, eyes flashing gold, boring into Aziraphale’s own. His limbs are back to their usual pale hue, a hand rubbing at his jaw idly and he stops to take in Aziraphale resting atop the pillows. 

Aziraphale says nothing, and instead watches how Crowley scans his figure, lingering on the bruised shoulder exposed by his open nightshirt, mottled all the way to the divot of his neck.

Crowley’s eyes narrow.

He tries to sit up, about to protest Crowley’s darkening expression but his arms tremble in their effort and Crowley waves him off with a grunt, crawling onto the bed. He flips the covers up enough to slip in next to Aziraphale, pressing his cool body alongside him. Hands come up and around to run random patterns into the soft band of Aziraphale’s waist, one sliding up his back. Those fingers eventually stop, hovering along the bite mark and Aziraphale sighs, ducking down into Crowley’s embrace to lay his head atop that flat chest.

Under his cheek Crowley lets out a deep exhalation, as though he had forgotten to breathe. He reaches up to play with several loose blond curls, twirling one around his thumb. There is a ghosting of Crowley’s lips atop his head.

“How’re you feeling?” Crowley sounds mildly amused to Aziraphale, but only just so.

Aziraphale closes his eyes, unable to stop himself from smiling. “Amazing, my dear. Thank you, for everything you do. Truly.”

Crowley snorted, “I said no theatrics.” If anything, he really should be doing the thanking. Breakfast tomorrow morning might be a good start, since they missed dinner. They’ll have dinner as well, of course.

Aziraphale makes to huff, but those thin lips are back against his temple.

This time, Crowley’s voice is fond. “Always, angel.”

Aziraphale relaxes at the endearment, settling further into the comfort of their bed and the cool, solid body next to him. It was all he could do, listen to the rise and fall of Crowley’s chest while they lay there together. Crowley did not say more, speaking only through the hand running up and down the soft curve of Aziraphale’s back, pausing when he felt the thump of a slow, steady heartbeat. In the silent comfort of their home Aziraphale was unable to resist the exhaustion in his bones, helped along with the gentle hand stroking him, and slowly he fell asleep.

Crowley did not follow after him, instead he lay there staring at the ceiling, not particularly tired yet. For a while he listened to the busy city street below, then listened much more closely to the all too human heartbeat under his palm, and wondered about how comforting a sound such things can be.

After a few hours slipped by, or maybe only a few minutes having passed, Crowley felt his own eyes drooping. The evening has caught up with him. Crowley grumbled to no one in particular, pulling the covers - including that terrible blanket - up further around them both. He wound his arms tighter, just a bit, encircling Aziraphale in a protective embrace.

Wrapped completely around Aziraphale, he drifted off at last, and something told him this was going to be the best night’s sleep he’s had so far.

**Author's Note:**

> yeehaw.


End file.
